OneWay Trip
by Ladylaconia
Summary: After surviving a would-be suicidal sacrifice, Noble Five must somehow get back to Reach. But the universe has other plans. Rated T for language/violence. Please review constructively.
1. Chapter 1: Limbo

The first thought that entered his head was that he didn't remember going to sleep.

Sensory input increased as he came to, his enhanced senses taking in the different aspects of his surroundings. The air was vaguely cold and the smell resembled an odd combination of soured meat and metal. There were strange noises coming from all around, subtle sounds that only served to amplify his disorientation. When he opened his eyes, they strained to focus on what was directly in front of him, and that was the splay-jawed head of a Covenant Elite.

_That_ snapped him out of it. He jerked into motion, the arm that had been partially under him pushing up and sending him back, the other automatically assuming the best possible position to slug the alien right in the middle of its four mandibles. But then he realized it was dead, laying on the ground as he had been. It had friends, too- possibly a hundred or so corpses littering the hangar of the Covenant vessel, surrounded by puddles of blue or purple blood.

It was the first time Chief Warrant Officer SPARTAN-052 had ever awakened inside a Covenant ship, and the only thing that served to assuage his discomfort was the fact that everything with hostile potential appeared to be quite lifeless. For a moment he was nonplussed, especially over the fact that his helmet had somehow come off in whatever sequence of events had resulted in this unusual situation. Then he spotted a UNSC Army trooper lying among the fallen, and another, and- a word came to mind, _uppercut_, and suddenly memory kicked into gear. He turned and stared up at the Pelican dropship that sat forlornly before him, then glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing but oblivion outside of the hangar. It made him involuntarily scoot toward the Pelican. There were no stars in that blackness, no familiar nebulous aura from Reach... just a not-quite-empty but ominous void.

He forced himself to stop looking at it (because no matter how long he stared at it, it wasn't going to go away) and instead studied the Pelican. The Slipspace drive that had been patchworked onto the bird's aft was looking quite miserable, emitting a kind of hazy smoke and spitting sparks. If it had done its job, which given the looks of things it had, then there was a pretty good chance in his reckoning that it wouldn't ever function as a Slipspace drive again. He rubbed his sore forehead with the heel of his gauntleted hand, figuring he had hit it when whatever force the bomb had given off had thrown him back, and then eyed the drive warily. There was surely radiation coming off the thing, and he had no idea how long he'd been out. He slipped his helmet on and was pleased to see the HUD come up; at least it hadn't been fried by the explosion, or whatever-it-was. Sure enough, radiation levels were elevated considerably.

"Damn," the Spartan said. It was a quiet thanks to the universe and a dismal curse at once. He checked his own bio signs and, satisfied with the results, got to his feet. The bulky MJOLNIR armor gave him a tank-like appearance, but it seemed weightless, and he had no problem moving quickly away from the Pelican. He went over to the nearest Marine and turned the smaller armored figure over. He could almost hear Dr. Halsey's voice chiding him- _Jorge, if the biomonitors say it's dead, it's dead, don't waste your time_- but at the moment he preferred Chief Mendez's opinion on machines versus one's own eyes. Unfortunately, what met his gaze was the remains of a face that had been burned clean off by a plasma bolt. Jorge gave a small grunt and gently shoved the corpse back to its original position, then went over to the next human body.

Several bodies later, he concluded that his HUD was telling the truth and that all the troopers were KIA. Which meant that he was the lone human on an enemy ship, trapped in a Slipspace dimension, with the possibility of more hostiles than he cared to think about roaming around on board. Not to mention the radiation-spewing Slipspace drive no more than a few hundred feet from his current position. Simply put, things did not look good at all.

_Well, I've got one thing in my favor. I'm not dead yet, _Jorge mused. He'd fully expected triggering the bomb to end his existence, had completely and totally come to terms with his demise and embraced it willingly, even gone so far as to give poor Six his tags and "help" her out of the hangar. But here he was, alive and mostly well, and even for a Spartan with literal nerves of steel, that was a profound thing. If he ever got back to UNSC space, he'd have to visit a church and do business with whatever god had seen fit to surprise him in such a way.

The first thing he did was relieve the annoying emptiness of his hands. The Army troopers had brought with them cases of weapons and ammunition, and he helped himself to the contents. He examined the shotgun he'd picked up with scrutiny and couldn't help but wonder what Emile, and the rest of Noble, thought of what he'd done. The obvious answer was that they thought he was dead. He wondered if he'd ever get the opportunity to show them otherwise, and then focused on the issue at hand. Mulling over other things could wait until he could afford to. He hefted the shotgun over his shoulder and it clicked onto the magnetic strips on the back of his armor. This done, he adorned his belt with a prudent amount of ammunition and affixed an M6G sidearm to his right thigh. It felt odd, loading up like this; he was used to toting around a minigun, but using weapons such as these was bred into his bones.

_Now what?_ The question echoed in his mind, and really, he wasn't quite sure of the answer. Cut off from the chain of command like this, all he could do was follow his instincts and reasoning. It reminded him of the training missions he'd been forced into as a child; Mendez would drop the trainees off in some godforsaken part of the Wilderness Training Preserve, and they had to figure out for themselves how to get back to base. Only now, the threat of freezing to death or being attacked by wild animals seemed pathetically tiny compared to, say, being stuck in another dimension _forever_. He figured the logical thing to do would be to figure out whether or not it was possible to somehow make the corvette exit Slipspace; for that, he had to go to the bridge. He turned his helmet, studying the many doors that surrounded the hangar, wondering which led to the bridge. One was unable to close fully, a Jackal corpse having obstructed the opening. _Six left me breadcrumbs,_ he realized, remembering that she and a team of troopers had stormed the bridge to change the corvette's course. Now all he had to do was follow the trail of dead aliens.

Sure enough, the winding corridors with their ever-blinking lights and smooth purple aesthetic led to an open area, with what he assumed were gunners' stations along a transparent panel that showed the outside. As he passed by the row of stations, he spotted the body of an Elite Ultra, untouched by bullets but stone dead all the same. It had been stabbed through the weak point of its ornate helmet, right up through the roof of its mouth. The kill had Six written all over it.

_Did you make it, Six? Are you angry with me for throwing you out like that? Nah, you wouldn't be- you've got ice in your veins, but you're all right. I'm sorry we had to part like that._

He clenched his jaw and moved on, though the image of a gray-armored Spartan free-falling toward Reach, his dog tags clutched in one hand, lingered in his mind's eye as he half-strode, half-stealthed to the next series of tight corridors.

He knew it was the bridge as soon as he came to it. What struck him the most was the huge translucent-orange hologram of Reach that occupied the very center of the room, and he stared at it for a full two seconds before moving in a little further. Dead Elites were everywhere; he picked out a gold-armored Shipmaster and even a few SpecOps among the usual Officers and Minors. Six's team had fallen here, and he took care not to accidentally step on any of them as he made his way to what appeared to be the main controls. All that lay beyond the viewports was the void, and he consciously averted his gaze from it, instead focusing on the plethora of shining alien symbols that adorned the ship's computers. He had no idea what buttons to push or, if there were any, where the hell they were located. Which were life support? Artifical gravity? Slipspace drive, anyone?

He would have probably stooped to brooding over the utter hopelessness of it all had not something stirred in the room, causing him to turn on his heel and raise his MA37, finger hovering over the trigger as he scanned the area for any sign of a threat. It was an odd sound, like something dry slithering through rough grass, or maybe the unfortunate results of indigestion. While he knew Grunts were prone to smell like ass, he hadn't ever heard one sound like it, and so when he spotted the Engineer floating in through an open doorway, it came as a less-than-pleasant surprise.

Jorge hadn't ever encountered an Engineer in a non-combat situation before. He recalled Six sniping the one that had been hovering over the battle in the hangar, to stop it from strengthening the enemy's shields. But really, the creatures were harmless. And since this one didn't have a bomb strapped to it like so many others he'd seen, he didn't really feel that shooting it was necessary. He kept his rifle up as it moved slowly into the bridge, in case it was being followed, and moved over to the doorway to check. The hallway was clear.

The Spartan lowered his rifle and turned to look at the Engineer, which had by now floated over to the multitude of dead bodies. The thing was emitting vaguely whale-like noises, melodic keening sounds that dipped and rose in pitch like waves. It picked up a DMR that had been damaged by plasma and, in a few short seconds, stripped the weapon down to its smallest components and reassembled it perfectly. The process was stunning to watch; Jorge had never seen even the most advanced human-made robots do something so intricate so quickly. The alien drifted over to another damaged gun, this one a Covenant plasma rifle, and proceeded to do the same thing. Jorge moved slowly in the Engineer's wake and picked up the reassembled DMR. It was fully repaired. He glanced at the alien and then back at the gun, wondering how he could use this to his advantage. As far as he knew, Engineers were fairly single-minded creatures, obsessed with doing... _this_ for their whole lives. Could one be persuaded to help him? Or more importantly... would it?

Another sound reached him, this one less passive and more familiar. The wheezing, barking utterances of Grunts. Part of Jorge had hoped the entire hostile population of the ship was wiped out in the hangar battle, but he knew better. He glanced at the Engineer briefly, wondering if he could tell it to remain here while he took care of the riffraff. He could imagine Dr. Halsey doing something as forward as telling an alien to _stay_ like some sort of pet.

_Halsey..._ He remembered the sight of Reach burning, of Sword Base being bombarded with plasma. _Damn the bastards to hell for what they did._

Suddenly the prospect of killing some more Covies seemed less like a chore and more like an exciting activity.


	2. Chapter 2: When in Rome

A demon stalked through the corridors of the Ardent Prayer, leaving Covenant dead in his wake.

According to a few Spartans, including one Emile-A239, Jorge wasn't quite the professional killing machine. Perhaps that was so; he liked to think of himself as a human being despite his role in life, and even though it annoyed some of his superiors, Doctor Halsey included, he tried his best to be more like a man than a living weapon. But there came times when humanity didn't even figure into the equation, and this was one of those times.

He decided to stop shooting when he figured out the persistent little pricks were much easier to just pummel to death. A left hook here, a sharp jab there, and Grunts were sent bawling to the floor, where they quickly expired. He rapidly overtook one that was running away and reached his arm around, caught it by its breathmask, and in one easy twist snapped its neck. It was dead before it hit the floor.

Jorge continued forward, keeping in mind which way led back to the bridge, and stopped short when he reached a series of openings. He wasn't quite sure what they were for, or what they contained, so he reached for his sidearm and made sure it was fully loaded before proceeding. The first four were empty, and they looked a little bit like doorless water closets, outfitted with strange basins that had a sort of control panel around them. The fifth, however, was occupied by a single red dot that remained still on his motion tracker. Jorge moved slowly, sidearm raised, idly wondering if he was about to stumble across a Grunt taking a piss.

It was no Grunt, nor was it pissing, and it let out an enraged roar before hurling all six hundred pounds of itself at the Spartan, a flash of blue-silver armor and leathery saurian hide.

Jorge fired off three shots before the Elite slammed into him. Two of the shots grazed shields, while the third went wide; the force of the impact caused the pistol to fly out of Jorge's grip. The alien bellowed and began to pound at the Spartan with its bare hands, massive fists slamming one after the other and draining Jorge's shield strength. Jorge braced against the Elite with his right arm and strained to reach the pistol with his left. The alien took the opportunity to rear back, delivering a swift kick to the Spartan's helmet and then stepping down hard on his outstretched arm.

Jorge held back any noise and instead decided to exploit the cocky Elite's bravado, using MJOLNIR's force-multiplying circuits to suddenly leap up and attack, reversing their positions. Because his right arm was still bent, he landed hard, a thousand pounds of man and armor, on the Elite's midsection. There was a distinct soft, almost squishy cracking sound, and the Elite loosed a roar of pain. Its clawed hands scrabbled at the Spartan's chest armor and helmet as it coughed up indigo blood, its slitted pupils dilating. Jorge held it down, biting back his own utterance of pain, until it ceased thrashing and started to twitch, eyes rolling back into its head. He then picked up the pistol with his good hand and shot the Elite through head, right between the eyes. The corridor was silent again, aside from the Spartan's panting.

Jorge stood and tried to move his left arm. It wasn't a bad injury, as Spartan injuries went, but the MJOLNIR hadn't reacted well to the stomping in its unshielded state. If he hadn't been wearing the armor, his ceramic-plated bones might have escaped unbroken, but there would've been a hell of a bruise. A normal human would have had their radius and ulna shattered beyond repair, practically pancaked. The Spartan merely grunted and continued on his way, mindful to keep the MA37 handy instead of the Magnum.

_Step one, clean house. Step two, get house out of the Great Life-Sucking Abyss. Step three, get a new house, preferably one belonging to the UNSC._ It sounded simple when he said it in his head, but in reality, it was well-nigh impossible. But killing all the remaining hostiles in the corvette would greatly improve his chances of survival, so he was going to do it. Step Two could wait until Step One was finished.

He went down to one of the lower decks, down a spiral staircase that had lavender paneling underfoot, and found a few Jackals trying to squirrel away what looked like melons, dried fruit and miscellaneous foodstuffs. Since he couldn't really ask them what it was, he just killed them and made a mental note of where the stash was located. He came across what might have been the Covie equivalent of a mess hall, though it was empty and lifeless.

There was a conspicuous amount of dead Grunts that he had not killed, and judging from the behavior of the Jackals, he guessed the birdlike aliens were intending to jump ship with whatever valuable goods they could get their claws on. He wondered whether they were aware that they were in Slipspace, and what sort of craft might be hidden somewhere on board capable of leaving the Corvette.

His suspicions about the Jackals were confirmed when he reached what must have been the infirmary. There were a few Grunts squealing and growling, trying to take large canisters away from the Jackals, and the Jackals were having none of it. One of them snarled in its guttural language and fired off a shot at the nearest Grunt, damaging its methane tank so that it fell onto its side and spun pathetically from the force of the escaping gas, then asphyxiated. The remaining four Grunts howled in rage and tried to attack the Jackals with what appeared to be medical tools, but were gunned down.

Jorge remained silent and hidden as he watched the Jackals haul off their booty through the nearest doorway. Wherever they were going, there had to be a ship, maybe a lifeboat of some kind. He followed them at a distance, moving with more stealth than his size gave him credit for.

They continued down into the bowels of the ship, slow going given the size and walking speed of Jackals. When they reached what looked like a row of vats, Jorge was a bit confused. But then one of the Jackals tapped the holographic keypad to the right of the "vat" and it cycled open, and it dawned on Jorge that these were the escape pods. Instead of being on the sides of the ship, as UNSC lifepods were, these were located along the bottom, in the same general area that Banshee and Seraph fighters launched from.

_Fascinating_, Jorge thought, and he wondered if he was the first human to learn this interesting tidbit. He watched as the Jackals started loading their loot into the pod and decided they didn't deserve to take it.

Four well-placed shots and two snapped necks later, Jorge began making his way back to the upper levels of the corvette, up the same winding staircases he had come down. He was loathe to use the gravity lifts until he knew exactly where he'd end up once he went flying into the air. According to the time displayed in his helmet, over six hours had passed since he set off the Slipspace bomb. Knowing that gave him a strange sense of urgency, and he quickened his pace as he sought to get back to the bridge. The closer he got to that hangar, the higher his radiation counter got, and he wasn't willing to be exposed to the stuff for longer than was absolutely necessary.

He kept looking over his shoulder, expecting Six to be right behind him as she always was lately, and then had to remind himself that he was, in every sense of the word, alone on this ship.

The bridge was as lifeless as it had been when he first discovered it. Jorge knew that the Engineer couldn't have gotten far, and he most certainly did not want it fooling with the fried Slipspace drive in the hangar. So he searched for it, cautiously moving up and down the many corridors that linked to the bridge. The last thing he wanted to do was scare the poor thing away, especially now that he had a vague idea of what to use the savant-like creature for.

He was about to turn around and double back to the bridge when a distinct musical moaning reached his audios. He frowned, turning and realizing that the thing must have gone to the hangar.

The sight that met him when he entered the corpse-littered span of room was pitiful. The Engineer had found its dead buddy and was hovering over the lifeless form, its whines having taken on a sorrowful tone. Jorge had never seen a Covie cry over the dead, and he watched silently as the Engineer's tentacles split into fine finger-like cilia, touching the fallen one. He wondered if the Engineer thought it could somehow bring its partner back to life. It was certainly more emotion than the Sorvad girl had shown when her father died in the Visegrad Relay, back when the invasion of Reach began; suddenly he couldn't help thinking of the Engineer as a poor abandoned survivor, and that brought with it an almost irritating pulse of empathy. _It's an alien, no point in tacking human feelings on it,_ logic told him, but still he stepped toward the Engineer with his weapon pointed down at the floor.

"Hey," he said, because really he couldn't think of anything else to say. He didn't know if the thing even understood a word of English. But he knew he had to at least try to communicate with it if he was going to enact the sketchy plan that had formed in his mind.

At the sound of his baritone voice, the Engineer gave a lurch, air bladders squelching as it wove in the air and turned to look at him with its narrow head. It had six round black-button eyes, three on each side of the head, and a multitude of tentacles that shrank up toward its large, airborne body as if it was afraid Jorge would try to grab them. Jorge could almost guess its thoughts, here among all the Covenant dead: _You shot them, your friend killed __my friend, why should I trust you? And you have a gun._

"It's alright," he said. "I'm not gonna hurt you." It was exactly what he'd said to Sara, and he hoped it sounded sincere enough for a terrified alien to understand his meaning. He let his right arm fall to his side, rifle hanging from it, and lifted his left up toward the Engineer, to show there wasn't any weapon in that hand.

The Engineer made an odd whistling noise and started forward, extending a pair of tentacles like arms. It tried to grab Jorge's hand but his shields repelled it, flaring gold where the creature attempted to touch his armor. The Spartan decided to take the risk and took off his helmet, cutting off the shields, then tucked the helmet under his right arm. The Engineer practically yanked his left hand forward, tentacles splitting into fine cilia that ran along the dented surface of his damaged armor. In a matter of seconds, the drab olive plating came off in sections and was then put back on, not quite undamaged but certainly more functional than before. Jorge flexed his hand, forming a fist, and there was no longer pressure on his wrist. "Thanks," he told the alien, nearly amused by the experience.

The Engineer made a faint moaning sound, but it wasn't a sad sort of moan. Jorge turned his head and then his body with it, watching as the creature floated around him as if it was looking at a fascinating new toy. He wasn't about to let the thing start fooling with random sections of his armor, but he could tell it was now completely interested in the MJOLNIR.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" As if in cheerful response, the Engineer emitted another whine. "Well I'm not gonna let you mess with it, but I know something you can mess with. I know this Corvette's got a Slipspace drive, and you probably know how it works."

It was probably useless, talking to the alien as one would a fellow English-speaking human, but Jorge thought he saw something like understanding in the Engineer's dark eyes.

_I'm trying to entreat an alien that probably can't understand why I keep making noise at it. Heh, I bet Kat would know what to do. Rig up some sort of device to translate, perhaps. These sorts of things are more her specialty._ He watched as the Engineer floated a little to the left, then to the right, like an enraptured child fidgeting. "I'm not exactly keen on forcing you at gunpoint," Jorge said aloud, depolarizing his visor so the Engineer could see his face. "But I need your help if I'm going to get out of this place."

As if pulled by an invisible string, the Engineer suddenly floated past him and made a beeline for the corridor that led to the bridge, moving far more quickly than the Spartan expected.

"That works," Jorge mused, jogging after the Engineer and taking care not to soil his boots on the corpses.


	3. Chapter 3: Easy

Imaginary Six kept making appearances when he daydreamed. He hadn't even known her for a full month and yet she was the human presence he associated with this predicament. Maybe it was because she had killed most, if not all, of the hostiles whose smelly bodies now occupied the far wall of the bridge. The Marines Jorge had laid on their backs in a neat row, a token of respect.

_You're letting that thing touch sensitive controls?_ She asked flatly, crossing her imaginary arms as much as her MJOLNIR would allow. She had big eyes, but they weren't soft. Though she was from Kat's batch of S-IIIs, Jorge had trouble putting the two women in the same category. Six was just different, maybe because she didn't say as much. Or maybe it was the fact that she didn't have a Carter to depend on.

Jorge kept glancing at the Engineer on and off, his rifle secure in his hands as he stood in front of the massive hologram of Reach that still occupied the center of the bridge. It was almost like a taunt, and he had to consciously avoid staring at the hologram like it was the real thing. Reach was possibly light-years away by now. _I think he knows what he's doing,_ Jorge replied to Six, and she only narrowed her eyes like she didn't buy it.

_How are you going to get home? This ship doesn't even have engines anymore, remember? I kinda took care of that._

_Of course you did. But I'm not going to give up. I'll find a way._

_Good luck. _Her voice was feminine but brittle, and he detected a hint of sarcasm in that statement._ You'd better hurry your ass up. S'not nice to leave all the killing to a lady._

It figured that the voice of his doubts and cynicism was hers.

The Engineer bleated happily, rousing the Spartan from his half-reverie. By now it had repaired most of the damage that had been dealt to the control panels by gunfire. Jorge was still no closer to knowing which buttons did what, but the fact that everything seemed to be in working order pleased him.

He checked his HUD. It had been nine hours since he detonated the Slipspace bomb. Nine hours of plowing through what could only be termed _oblivion_ in this Covie crate of a ship. He hadn't slept since the brief catnap he caught in the cave where Kat and Carter came up with the whole damn op. Slowly but surely the reality of what happened was sinking in; every now and then, he found himself wondering if he'd been listed KIA yet. No, not KIA; Spartans weren't allowed to die. _MIA._ For once, the propaganda would be correct, because Jorge most definitely was not dead.

He wondered if the religious concept of purgatory was anything like this situation. Cut off from everyone and everything, stuck in a dimension of nothingness, alone... no, not quite alone. Jorge glanced at the Engineer and shifted his weight, a bit impatient but willing to wait until the savant-like creature was ready for him to do anything.

_Is it a him or a her? Do they even have genders? Am I just imagining that it understands a word I'm saying?_

"Hey, you," he said, and the Engineer turned in midair to look at him with that six-eyed, passive face. He couldn't help thinking of it as the misbegotten offspring of a turtle, a squid, and a hot air balloon, but its face resembled that of an armadillo. It was almost cute, and part of him was utterly nonplussed over the fact that a Covie could remotely qualify as _cute._ "Any idea how we're going to get out of this mess yet?"

The Engineer trilled and bobbed toward him eagerly, causing him to take an involuntary step back. He fought the urge to bring up his rifle. _It's not dangerous, it's just a harmless... thing,_ he reminded himself. Then he saw what it was doing with its tentacles and tilted his head slightly. It seemed to be making shapes with its limbs, a sort of sign language. Jorge shook his head in negation, not understanding. "I don't know how to do that," he said half-apologetically.

The Engineer emitted a flatulent sound from its air sacs. It reminded the Spartan of when Doctor Halsey used to sigh in frustration when she didn't get the results she wanted from a particular test. It turned its narrow head as if looking around, then floated over to the other side of the bridge, passing right through the hologram of Reach. It returned a few seconds later with a small object in its grasp, something that looked like a datapad. Jorge watched as the Engineer fiddled with the object, stripping it apart and reassembling it just as quickly, then raised an eyebrow when it held the object up to him. He took it almost gingerly, then sighed. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

The Engineer floated forward, curling a tentacle around his left wrist and snatching the object from him. Jorge extended his left arm, feeling an odd inclination to trust the creature despite his combat instincts screaming at him to back off. In a blur of motion, the Engineer disassembled his supplemental wrist armor and replaced it with the "datapad," wiring it directly to MJOLNIR's circuitry and replacing what armor plating would fit around the device. The Engineer then keened, looking directly at the Spartan's helmet and lifting two tentacles in a gesture Jorge knew well. _Give._

Almost reluctantly the Spartan took off his helmet. He had an idea of what the Engineer was trying to do: give them a way to communicate properly. He held the helmet out toward the creature, eyeing it suspiciously. "Break it, and I'll get angry," he warned.

The Engineer merely snatched the helmet and proceeded to take it apart, laying out its many components, big and small, on the floor in a neat arrangement. It then put the pieces back together, tentacles moving so quickly that Jorge, even with his enhanced vision, couldn't follow them. When the process was finished, his helmet looked exactly as it had before. The Engineer held it out to the Spartan, trilling again.

Jorge took his helmet back and lowered it over his head, sealing it to the neckline of his armor. His HUD came to life, appearing the same as it always had, but when he studied it he realized everything seemed _different_. It was the same sensation he'd experienced after recovering from augmentations; the transition from normal to "Spartan" vision was in no way subtle. He figured that now he could spot a flea crawling across a flat surface fifty yards away if he stared hard enough. The ornate colors of the Covie bridge now seemed even brighter and more complex, the textures rendered in great detail. There was a strange blue glyph in the far right corner of his HUD, and when he activated it there was suddenly a line of text that scrolled down, at first appearing as glyphs but then changing to the English alphabet.

**You who are called Demon I am Rises Too Easily**

Jorge looked at the new wristpiece. The Engineer had a tentacle on the device, split into many fine cilia. Apparently the pad was some sort of interface that transmitted data to his HUD. He wondered what other functions the pad might have, and decided to stow those questions until later.

"Demon, eh? I'm flattered," the Spartan said dryly. "Rises Too Easily's a bit of a mouthful. I think Easy will do." Giving it a nickname made it seem more like a buddy and less like something, well, alien. More like part of his squad than an enemy.

He watched as another tentacle spit into sections and investigated his hand, and he spread his fingers as the small bioluminescent strands stroked the large plate that extended from wrist to knuckles. He wondered if it had completely forgotten that he and his allies had murdered every other living thing on this vessel. Maybe it didn't care; it seemed more interested in his suit than in him as a person.

**I have repaired what I can I wish to reconfigure your armor it requires adjustment to attain optimal efficiency**

"Optimal efficiency?" Again, it reminded him of Halsey. Always tutting about the various shortcomings of the stuff from skunkworks, always experimenting, always striving for better tech. "Sounds nice, but I'd rather you not take apart this tin can."

**The modifications to your helmet are rudimentary I wish to do more**

"You can't." Jorge shook his head to emphasize the statement. "Even if all you have are good intentions, I can't allow you to access classified ONI engineering specs. I've already crossed the line letting you do what you've done." He wondered if it even understood what he meant, the ramifications of letting a potential enemy tamper with one of the most slaved-over and secret war machines in history. Did it even acknowledge the concept of _sides_ in war? Considering that it was aiding him now, maybe not.

The Engineer – _Easy_, he reminded himself, _it's_ Easy _now, not a thing_ – tilted its narrow head to one side slightly, its onyx-marble eyes glinting. Almost looked like it was thinking deeply about something. Then more text scrolled across Jorge's HUD, faster than before.

**Do you wish to return to the space that was before**

It didn't take much thought process to get what Easy meant. Jorge felt his heart rate rise just a bit at the prospect of leaving Slipspace, maybe even getting back to Reach. "Yes," he answered, and it was sheer Spartan professionalism that held him back from blurting it.

**Then you must allow me to optimize your equipment this ship is badly crippled more Huragok are required for maintenance I cannot guarantee a safe exit the probability of sustaining major damage upon exiting Slipstream space is high**

Jorge digested this information with a frown. _I've got to teach this thing punctuation_, he thought idly, then sighed. "So you're saying... there's a good chance this rig's gonna have a nasty reaction when we jump back to reality, and you think my suit's not gonna cut it."

**You must allow me to optimize your equipment if survival is your objective**

Easy trilled quietly, hovering in place. Jorge had to admit, the alien knew how to bargain. It made sense; the _Ardent Prayer_ had taken a pounding from the _Savannah_, plus the damage dealt by the Sabre team. In addition, he had no idea what might happen when the Corvette's own Slipspace drive attempted to open an exit portal. He'd learned his share of physics, in childhood training and beyond, but these sorts of interdimensional quandaries were above his level of understanding.

"Damn straight it's my objective," Jorge growled. He glanced at the hologram of Reach, then at Easy. "My planet needs me." _And I need it._

**May I proceed with the disassembly**

For a protracted, uncomfortable moment, Jorge just wanted to say _no_. He wasn't one of those Spartans who thought of MJOLNIR as another body part, as something he couldn't live without, but after wearing it for so long as a second skin, he was loathe to let anyone but a qualified ONI technician or a fellow Spartan mess with it. He depolarized his visor and gave Easy a long, narrow-eyed look, hoping the alien got the meaning. "Can't say I'm particularly inclined to put blind faith in you," he grunted. "And considering where I am at the moment, I'm not particularly thrilled over taking off my armor, either."

Easy just continued to hover expectantly, like a kid eying a jar of candy just out of reach. It gave a low whine, tentacles curling up toward its body as it gave a slight bob.

Jorge exhaled stiffly. "Fine," he groused. "Do what you need to do. But I swear, if you screw this thing up, I will _not_ be happy." He raised his rifle as a warning, though he doubted he'd have the heart to actually kill Easy, even if something bad did happen.

The noise that came from Easy couldn't have been anything but a squeal of delight.


	4. Chapter 4: Upgraded, outbound

Cold. The ship was cold, like the first moments of Spartan boot camp had been cold. He had been six then; now, thirty-five years later, he could shrug it off easily. But he couldn't stop his skin from prickling, or the annoying urges to shiver that ran up and down his spine.

Like an onion, MJOLNIR had many layers. The first layer was a bodysuit that had a number of interlocking metal pieces attached to its exterior, and Easy had gone so far as to strip away portions of that for remodeling. Jorge sat against the wall with his back resting against the frigid, smooth metal, watching as the Engineer worked. It looked like the alien was methodically shredding apart the armor segment by segment, tearing it like tissue paper and laying the intricate pieces out on the floor. It was like watching the construction of a complex model, only in reverse. What used to be a significant portion of his chest plating was now a row of stripped-down components, and he couldn't even fathom where to start putting it back together on his own.

Jorge glanced down at the thick plating that encased the lower half of his torso. Unlike standard UNSC body armor, even that used by the ODSTs, MJOLNIR was built to accommodate the wearer in more ways than simply providing protection and a power boost. One of its most useful functions was recycling waste to prevent dehydration, and for that some very... _personal_ connections were needed between man and suit. He sincerely hoped Easy didn't consider such things worth upgrading, or they were going to have a very heartfelt discussion over it.

He exhaled slowly and shut his eyes for a moment. He wasn't relaxed, not by a long shot, but it was the closest thing he'd come to it since late July. He didn't feel tired, he felt... well, the only apt term for what he felt at the moment was _old_.

He opened his eyes and shot a slight glower Easy's way. "Be careful with that," he grunted, though he had no idea what the hell the Engineer was even tinkering with at the moment. The only reaction he got was a contented burble.

He could just imagine Noble's reactions when he showed them the odd creature. Carter would probably make Kat analyze it thoroughly, which she'd be all too happy to do; Jun would either avoid it or complain it was spying on them; Emile, well, he would most likely recommend killing it unless Kat stopped him. Six wouldn't do anything unless ordered, but maybe he could make her understand Easy wasn't a bad guy. If there was one thing Jorge had learned about the model threes, they _hated_ all things Covie, harmless or not. And they had good reason to. But Six, despite her stone-cold-killer methodology, wasn't all damaged goods. She still had the ability to trust.

_Or maybe I'm just imagining that, eh? Nah. She knew I'd catch her when she jumped._

It occurred to him that he was speculating about a much-younger woman whom he'd only known for less than a month, and then he decided to leave such thoughts for another time. They were teammates. He wasn't going to leave her and the others to save the planet on their own now.

Jorge glanced at the viewport. He wondered why he kept doing it because the opaque blackness wasn't just going to go away eventually. Then a high-pitched, satisfied chitter from Easy yanked his attention back to the Engineer and its work. "Yeah?"

Easy beckoned him to come over, and the Spartan stood, joining the creature in a couple of strides. It was getting hard to ignore the pile of dead Covies now; they gave off a decidedly salty, sour odor. The humans wouldn't start smelling for another few hours. Jorge scratched at the stubble on his jaw, mentally reminding himself to shave when he got the chance, and then raised an eyebrow at Easy.

The Engineer responded by bobbing up and down, a flurry of tentacles, reassembling the basic underlayers of the MJOLNIR armor with that same seemingly effortless, mesmerizing speed Jorge had witnessed earlier. It took nearly twenty minutes for human technicians to fully armor a Spartan, even with the help of automated tools; this took seconds. Jorge flinched, unused to the swiftness of it all; the rapid placement of sheathing and components over his skin _tickled_. Like a demented maid-in-waiting, Easy made circles around the Spartan, all the while reconstructing the MJOLNIR layer-by-layer. Once his torso and shoulders were taken care of, the Engineer started on his arms and legs, and in under a minute every last piece was in its place.

Jorge fought the urge to gawk and instead studied his reconfigured armor. Not only did it look different, it felt different. Lighter, almost. Easy held up his helmet with two tentacles and offered it, and the Spartan took it and placed it on his head, connecting it to the suit. His HUD popped up, and Jorge began analyzing what exactly had been done to his gear.

_Halsey'd flip if she could see all this. Kat, too... my God, this is something._ It took him a full minute to detect every enhancement and half of another to process it. Somehow, Easy had increased the defensive output of his shields by nearly one hundred percent, giving him double the shield strength he'd had before; in addition to this, the recharge speed was cut by nearly half the time. The reactive mechanisms that enabled him to move at three times his normal speed had been upgraded as well, increasing that speed to maybe four or five times. He flexed his fists, then took a step. It was quicker than before, and he had to catch himself.

Nearly a year ago he'd had to adjust to the Mark V[B] model after wearing the Mark IV for almost thirty years. He figured he could adjust to this just as well.

Easy emitted a pleased trill, floating off to one side like a slightly-less-than-modest craftsman. Jorge walked carefully in a half-circle and then turned back, marveling at how different it felt. If anything, the armor looked more streamlined, like something a Covie would like to wear, but it retained its human-made shape and appearance; namely, the "walking tank" aesthetic. It was as if Easy had taken Halsey's work and brought it to its full potential. Jorge knew she would probably be annoyed by that fact, but it would have pleased her.

_Too bad she won't ever get to see it._

Having thus come down from cloud nine, Jorge glanced sideways at Easy. His HUD was now taken up by several glyphs; when he activated the newer ones, he found that when he looked at the symbols on the Covie nav terminals, a little box with all-caps English translation popped up. Their language was far too florid and their wording far too vaguely ornate for him to make proper sense of it, but he figured it would come in handy. "Well," Jorge said, rolling his shoulders and slinging his rifle across his back, "Now then. About that Slipspace drive."

If the bridge had started to smell odd, then the hangar was a regular odor festival. Jorge kept his helmet securely on his head, grateful for his air scrubbers. He ignored the dead and focused on the task at hand: dumping the defunct Pelican and its radiation-leaking cargo into the void.

Easy had expressed concern that having another Slipspace drive on board, however damaged, might interfere with any attempts to return to realspace. So, Jorge decided the best option they had was to lose the thing. He wasn't about to tinker with it; instead, he was going to shove the entire Pelican out of the hangar and into oblivionland.

He braced against the nose of the bird, hoping that Easy's armor modifications would aid in this endeavor, and _pushed_. It only took a twitch to make MJOLNIR work, but Jorge put everything he had into the effort; his arm muscles strained as they sought to put as much weight on the Pelican's hull as they could. At first there was no movement, then the hull exterior creaked. Jorge increased the pressure, putting his legs into it and pushing off the floor to add more force. With a screech, the landing gear slid toward the hangar door a few inches, then another few inches. Jorge continued to shove, not letting up, face set in a determined scowl under his visor. Finally, with another screech, the landing gear just _scooted_ the remaining distance, and it only took another hearty push to send the entire thing toppling out of the _Ardent Prayer_.

He held his breath for a moment, half-expecting that discombobulated Slipspace drive to do something nasty, but no surprises came.

"Well then," he muttered, then turned and headed back to the bridge.

Easy was waiting for him, tentacles stroking the holographic controls at a terminal on the far end of the bridge. A quick analysis of the glyphs there identified it as some sort of navigational terminal. The Engineer turned to look at him, then flashed a series of signs at him with its tentacles.

_Preparing, ship, for, jump,_ his HUD told him, interpreting the signals.

"Good," Jorge replied aloud. He almost felt impatient. "Just let me know when you're ready."

_You, will, know._

Jorge turned and stared silently at the hologram of Reach. He'd thought about asking Easy to make it disappear, but now he realized he wanted it to remain for as long as possible. It was like a child wanting their security blanket, a very non-Spartan sentiment, but he indulged it. Thinking about Reach kept things in perspective. He was alive, he was going to get out of this mess, he was going to get back to his team and his planet. That was all that really mattered.

He knew all of the other Spartan-II children had been colony kids from other worlds. Most of their homeworlds had been glassed by the Covenant by now. He was the only Reach kid, the only one on the planet lucky – or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it – enough to have the perfect genes and IQ that made him an ideal candidate for the project. He wasn't sure how the others felt about Reach, whether they thought of it as _home_ or not, but he sure as hell knew where he came from. He wasn't about to let the Covenant take the one piece of his life he hadn't had to give up as a Spartan away from him. Sometimes when he visited places like Viery or Eposz, he could almost remember what his parents looked like.

Was it all glass by now? Or had his intended sacrifice succeeded? He wanted to know. _Needed_ to.

He was distracted from his thoughts by Easy, who half-whistled, half-bleated at him, signing. _Get, ready._

His heart rate rose just a fraction and he nodded, stepping back and bracing against the wall. His boots magnetized. Whatever happened, he intended to stay standing through it.

Easy chirped and turned back to the terminal, tentacles sliding across the controls. A low whine carried through the ship, growing louder and more insistent by the second. Jorge thought he heard a moan coming from somewhere, the sound of stressed metal. But Easy just continued on, waiting a few seconds before tapping one glyph in particular. There was an odd trilling sound from the console – it sounded suspiciously like an alarm – and Easy made an unpleasant noise in response, tentacles coiling back toward its body. Something was wrong... but there was no time to address it.

For a moment all seemed to grow quiet. Jorge felt strangely detached, like he was watching all of it happen from some other location. It was the same feeling he'd had when he set off the bomb, having come to terms with his fate and accepted it. There was no fear, no sadness, no anger – just the calm and pleasant sensation that whatever happened would happen, and he was okay with it.

Then the blackness split right down the middle, cut open by a swath of bright light.

_Light?_

He was expecting stars, the sight of space, so when light came flooding from the expanding hole in the darkness, he was stunned and perplexed. But then a lifetime of training kicked in, and he was over the surprise. He looked at Easy, who seemed spooked instead of exultant, then darkened his visor as the Ardent Prayer passed through the portal and, with a violent shudder, entered reality once more.

_And the evening and the morning were the first day,_ some voice in the back of his mind whispered, a leftover from the past he'd all but forgotten.

Jorge approached the viewport quickly and warily, taking in their new surroundings. As the _Prayer_ drifted slowly out of the Slipspace rift, the light began to shift, and Jorge realized it was just sunlight reflecting off a metallic surface. When his eyes and brain finally made sense of that surface, though, it caused him to frown slightly, and he could only stare for a few seconds before he turned to Easy, who seemed to be cowering.

"What the hell is that?" he demanded, pointing. It was some sort of space station, but nothing he'd ever seen before. The architecture was nonhuman, the structure itself colossal in scale... and it was surrounded by what looked like a bunch of gnats. Those gnats swarmed toward the _Prayer_, growing larger as they approached. They weren't gnats. They were machines, sleek and angular machines, and they had a single eye-like light on the front that glowed yellow. Jorge got the familiar feeling that they weren't friendly.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Easy signing something, and looked over to see what it was.

_Forerunner._


	5. Chapter 5: On this side of the grave

_Forerunner_. The word didn't ring any bells. Jorge thought the space station or whatever the hell it was looked like a giant snowflake with a wedge shoved through it. The protrusions or "spokes" looked like sensor arrays, and between each set of two spokes was a mast that emitted a small puff of blue-white energy every other second. But while the massive object was intriguing, he was more concerned with the cloud of metallic things that was rapidly approaching the _Ardent Prayer_.

"Easy, I thought we settled on a more convenient destination," Jorge muttered, taking a few steps back from the viewport as the insect-like things came closer.

The Engineer signed quickly, almost flailing. _We, were, summoned._

"Summoned?" Jorge's tone grew sharp. _Summoned_ could mean any number of dismal things by his reckoning; maybe some high-tech Covie outpost had somehow detected the _Prayer_ in Slipstream space and forced it to exit right here so they could investigate it. But Jorge had never seen anything like this when it came to Covies. "So something here just messed with our coordinates, is that what you're saying?"

_Forerunner, technology, powerful._

Jorge wondered if there were any of these Forerunner chaps on that glorified snowflake so he could berate them for delaying his journey home.

"Forget it. Can't do anything about it now. I'm more worried about those buggers," he growled, watching as a formation of the metal fliers passed by the viewport. They didn't seem very concerned with him, if they could even see or sense him. The entire ship shuddered, and Jorge brought his rifle up, expecting the machines to come swarming in at any second. But none came, and when he risked a glance at the viewport he saw that the _Prayer_ was approaching what appeared to be a docking bay of some sort. "Easy, what'd you do?"

The Engineer shook its head. It was learning to copy his body language. _Pulling, us, in,_ it signed, and not quite happily either.

_So they brought us here and now they want us to come in and have tea. Sorry, but no thanks._

Easy floated quickly from console to console and made a crooning noise. It almost sounded like a worried moan. It exhaled gas through its air bladders and hovered beside the Spartan, lowering its head and blinking. Its tentacles curled up close to its body as it chittered softly. Jorge didn't need translation software to understand that it was scared.

"Your lot weren't made to fight," the Spartan said, reaching a hand out. Easy lifted its head and pressed its forehead against the underside of Jorge's hand, like a cat. "If they start shooting, let me do the dirty work. You make yourself scarce."

In a few hours' time he'd gone from thinking of the creature as a might-be-dangerous Covie-affiliated _thing_ to considering it the alien equivalent of a single-minded, brilliant but helpless child. He realized he was projecting, treating the Engineer the same way he'd treat Sara Sorvad or any endangered civilian unable to defend themselves. But wasn't that what he lived for, protecting? Perhaps that was why Easy kept reminding him of Halsey. He needed something to protect now that all he'd been fighting so hard to keep safe was gone.

_Not gone. Far away. And I'll get back._

He turned his head and looked out the viewport. The _Ardent Prayer_ was being guided by some invisible force into a vast, gaping hole of a hangar. The metallic flying things were swarming all around, more observant than hostile. Jorge zoomed in on a few of them to study them. He couldn't see any visible weapons, no mounted turrets or the like, but his instincts told him they had to be armed. He noted the glowing golden "eye" present on each unit, wondering if it was some kind of projectile or beam emitter.

As the Corvette glided into the hangar, several phenomena happened at once. Struts emerged from the hangar walls and floor, extending toward the ship. Beams of blue-white light criss-crossed between each strut, forming intricate geometric shapes, and the struts reconfigured as they continued to extend, morphing into curved sickle-shapes along the tips. The _Prayer_ gave a shuddering halt as those shapes clamped along its sides, effectively holding it in place. Jorge stepped back from the viewport as the metal fliers (buggers, he thought, unable to disassociate them from drones) rose up and surrounded the fore of the ship en masse, gently shoving Easy along with him. It took him a moment to realize that the Engineer had plastered itself to his right arm and shoulder, not bothering to tinker with the armor- just holding on as if for dear life.

"They're curious," Jorge mused, unable to take his eyes off the buggers. "They haven't shot at us yet. I'm not very keen on starting a fight myself."

Then something bigger rose up to hover behind the buggers – it was like watching a Hunter rear up behind a crowd of Grunts. It was obviously weaponized, and it looked to be roughly the size of a Wraith tank. Jorge pushed Easy to one of the bridge doors, figuring that burrowing deeper into the Corvette might save them both from any barrage that could come blasting into the bridge. What froze him in his tracks was the sight that came next. The gigantic thing projected a thin beam of light that expanded vertically, then resolved itself into a hologram. Jorge found himself facing the luminous image of a thin woman – a _human_ – wearing a jumpsuit, with blond hair pulled back into a long ponytail. She placed a "hand" on the outside of the viewport, floating in midair, as if peering inside the ship. "Hello?" a voice seemed to say from everywhere at once.

_It's an AI._

Jorge remained silent. He shoved Easy further into the corridor, out of sight, pointing at the floor. _Stay_. He then turned fully toward the viewport, stepping out and allowing the door to cycle shut behind him.

"You know, I've never detected any human signatures in my time at this station," the AI said, nearly amused. "Plenty of Covenant traffic. But all the Covenant on this ship are dead, aren't they? I'm getting decomp readings all over the place... hm, anomalous indeed. So very out of the ordinary. But ordinary's a hard thing to come by, isn't it, Spartan?"

Jorge blinked.

_It knows things. Gotta be UNSC. But what's it doing here? Where's here, anyway?_

"Oh, silly me. Pardon my bad manners – I don't get many guests," the AI giggled, placing a hand over her mouth coyly before crossing her arms. "I am UNSC AI serial number AMR6169-2, but you can call me Amaranth. It's much less of a mouthful." She peered again, squinting for effect. "It's rude not to introduce yourself, you know."

"Chief Warrant Officer SPARTAN-052," Jorge said stiffly, keeping his rifle visible in his hands. "Recently of NavSpecWar Group Three."

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here," Amaranth said, tilting her head slightly. "Well, it's a long story that involves ONI snooping around where it shouldn't have poked its nose in the first place... but you and I both know how ONI loves to do that. But why am I telling you this? You'd do better to hear it from Major Benson. He and his team have been stranded here for years, trying to make sense of all this technology. Perhaps we could all work together, find some way to contact the UNSC. And I'm sure the spooks would just _love_ hearing how you ended up on a Covenant corvette."

"ONI?" It made perfect sense once the shock faded. "You mean there's UNSC personnel, here?"

"That's what I said." Amaranth smiled at him. She was pretty, as AI went; he wondered if she looked anything like her engram donor. "Also, I'm detecting multiple structural weaknesses on that ship. Must have been quite a skirmish."

"It was," Jorge said, almost bitterly. He glanced at the many fliers that surrounded Amaranth, still feeling uneasy in the pit of his gut. "Mind telling me what your friends are?"

"Ah. These are Sentinels," Amaranth said, as if she were discussing the weather. "Their primary purpose is this station's defense. Don't worry, they're only hostile if you're, say, a parasitic contagion, or maybe some other weapon of mass destruction."

"Parasitic... what?"

Amaranth waved absently. "Oh, right. I'm sure the Major will fill you in on all that we've learned. There's so much data here... so much, and the UNSC hasn't a clue."

Jorge clamped his rifle onto his back. The uneasy feeling persisted, but if there were ONI personnel here, people affiliated with _the_ intelligence network of the UNSC, then he had to get to them. He had to inform them of what was happening to Reach, just how badly he needed to get back to his planet. And if there was advanced technology here, something to give humanity an edge over the Covenant... well, that was a victory in itself.

"I'll be right there," he said, turning and heading for the corridor that led to the hangar. As the door cycled shut behind him, Easy floated in front of him, trilling softly. The Engineer extended a delicate tentacle and brushed along the front of Jorge's chest plating, a worried gesture.

"I've got friends here," Jorge said. "I can take care of myself. You, however, need to lay low, at least until I've explained things. Don't want you getting shot on sight. Just stay in here – I'm sure they'll want to examine the ship."

Easy raised its tentacles and signed. _Come, back, soon._

"Of course," Jorge grunted, tipping the Engineer's head upward a bit. "Can't very well take apart this kit on my own, now can I?"

By the time he reached the hangar it had been invaded by the Sentinels. They seemed to be scanning the corpses, methodically incinerating them into less than dust with beams generated from each single yellow "eye." Jorge made note of the action and looked around, wondering how he was going to get off the ship. When he walked over to the hangar opening, he looked and saw that the floor was a very long way down. If he jumped, he wasn't sure what would happen, but figured it would be painful.

"Don't worry," Amaranth's disembodied voice said cheerfully. "You don't have to jump or wait for a lift. Just hold still."

"I don't-"

Golden light suddenly surrounded him, as rings of light coursed up and down around him. The air seemed to crackle, then there was the disturbing sensation of _falling_, followed by the feeling of his boots meeting solid ground. He fell forward, one knee hitting the floor as he caught himself with a hand. A wave of nausea passed over him, and it was all he could do to keep from retching.

"... understand," he finished lamely, then looked around. He was no longer aboard the _Ardent Prayer_. He wasn't even in the gigantic docking bay. The room was long and wide, with an entire wall made of a pale blue transparent material. When he stood and approached it, he saw that he was now overlooking the docking bay. The Corvette hung there in all its curved purple majesty, retaining its distinct Covenant vanity despite the extensive damage.

"The air is perfectly breathable, as this facility generates an atmosphere compatible with human systems," Amaranth announced, materializing beside him. Her avatar was roughly six feet tall, and flashed a magenta color before returning to its original blue hue. "If you're wondering what you just experienced, think of it as a mini Slipspace jump, safe for humans. The people who designed this place invented all kinds of crazy gadgets."

"... Forerunner. Does that word have any meaning to you?" Jorge asked her, recalling what Easy had signed.

Amaranth seemed to stiffen. Her avatar flashed again. "Like I said, we're still in the process of figuring all of this out. I'm sure Major Benson will be able to explain it more clearly than I can. If you'll just follow my directions, I'll lead you to him and his team." She then vanished.

The wall, which was flat and featureless before, changed. Panels with glyphs on them emerged, shifting around and flashing, forming a line that led out a doorway. Jorge started forward, following the panels. They glowed bright blue, lighting the way down a dark corridor. The translation ability Easy had installed into his helmet attempted to make sense of it all, but he finally had to shut it off, as the words displayed made no sense.

"This station is a lot like our Slipspace monitoring posts," Amaranth mused, her voice again sounding like it came from everywhere at once. "Only it's much, much more. Imagine if the UNSC had the ability to yank a ship right out of Slipspace, or maybe insert a nuke right smack in the middle of a Covenant battle group while they're _inside_ Slipspace. The precision, the technology... it's amazing."

"So that's how you brought me here." Jorge stopped walking for a moment, then continued. "You took an awfully big risk. If the ship had been crawling with Covies, they could've gotten access to all this tech."

"I knew you were on board, and I calculated the odds. Trust me, if that ship had been crawling with Covies, my Sentinels would have blown it to pieces as soon as it popped back into reality."

My _Sentinels? A bit cocky there._ "They seemed interested in the dead bodies," he remarked.

"They're just taking precautionary measures," Amaranth said coolly.

Jorge didn't quite understand what she meant, but decided not to press the issue. He continued to follow the glyphs, hoping this Major Benson would give him some answers. Already he knew exactly what he was going to say about the situation at Reach, what he was going to ask about this station, how he would go about trying to contact the UNSC...

The trail of shiny glyphs suddenly vanished, leaving him in total darkness. Immediately he activates his HUD's night vision, amplifying his own. "Something wrong with the power supply?" he queried.

Amaranth didn't answer. Two seconds after he finished asking the question, he heard a not-too-distant _thoom_.

"Amaranth?" he asked, then turned and ran straight down the corridor, back to the room where he'd started. "The hell was that?"

The sight that met him as he gazed out at the docking bay answered him.

The Sentinel robots were linking up, forming ornate honeycomb-like structures and combining their laser fire to amp up the force, blasting at the _Ardent Prayer._ Another explosion ripped through the ship, a brilliant purple-blue-white fireball that plumed upward as what had been the front of the ship crumpled. In seconds the ship was falling apart, burning pieces raining down onto the docking bay floor as the struts from the walls retracted.

"Pardon the mess," Amaranth intoned sweetly. "But containment protocols are always messy, aren't they?"

Jorge just stared. His visor polarized to block out the blinding light, but he couldn't help squinting. It was more of a wince than anything. Easy hadn't stood a chance against all that – poor thing had probably been trying to fix something, or maybe just waiting for Jorge to come back.

A string of images: Laszlo Sorvad's body; the _Grafton_ gutted by the supercarrier; watching Eposz burn from high above. _Stop it. Stop. S'just a Covie Engineer. An asset, like an AI._ Even as he told himself that, he knew it wasn't true. He turned and looked all around the room, daring Amaranth to show herself. "Containment," he muttered to himself, realization dawning. What was there to contain?

"It's been a _long_ time since I had a nice living human to talk to," Amaranth purred. "Well, human's stretching it a bit; she made sure you're much more than that, didn't she? But it'll have to do."

"I am human," Jorge said in a low voice, the tone he generally reserved for things he was going to kill and wanted to intimidate beforehand. "And I want to know what the hell you think you're doing."

Laughter. It sounded so innocent and carefree, but it made Jorge's scalp prickle. "Oh, I see. Believe what you want, then – I really don't care. And I don't think, I _know_. What do I know? Everything. It's godlike, really. But I'm no god." Her avatar winked to life on the other side of the room, smirking. "We're a lot alike, you and I – we're fake people. I'm a collection of thoughts from someone else's brain, and you're a genetically altered cyborg. I think we're going to have an interesting working relationship, don't you? There's so much in store for us."

"I just need to contact the UNSC," Jorge told her. She had to be older than seven years – she was obviously erratic, maybe even fully rampant, but he had to try to reason with her. "Reach is under attack by the Covenant. If there is a Major Benson here, I need to talk to him, and quickly."

"There was a Major Benson," Amaranth sighed, ignoring the news of Reach entirely. "But he was so boring. Only interested in his data and observations. They all were, really. Like _her_. So I killed them. I was very merciful, though. I helped him acknowledge his own insignificance before he died... it's good to give people the truth, you know."

Jorge absorbed all of this in silence, wondering if she was privy to his blood pressure at the moment or if she understood what that entailed.

"Containment," he said at last. He more or less spat the word. "I suppose that means me, doesn't it?"

"I like you," Amaranth said excitedly. "You catch on quick. Must be all those extra parts in your brain. Yes – that means you. You're stuck here, with me, and you're going to help me."

_Like hell,_ he thought, and he was about to voice it when golden light surrounded him again, transporting him to an unknown location once more.


End file.
